The Scarf
by Cohen's Chicas
Summary: Roger got Mark and extraspecial present for his birthday!  Or is it his Bar Mitzvah?  A cute MRfriendship oneshot .. please please please review! I will love you forever!  Rated for language ..


**(A/N: A lovely little Mark/Roger friendship. What would those two adorably clueless boys do without each other? Remember, if you review, I'll give you Mark's scarf!)**

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The Scarf

"Happy Birthday, Marky! Menzel Toff!" Roger grinned down at his best friend as he thrust a package into his arms.

"Um, thanks, Roger, but its actually not my birthday," Mark said as he tried to balance the mound of presents in his arms. Finally, he found a spare table and dumped the pile into an empty chair.

"And it's not Menzel Toff. Its _Mazal Tov_," he added, straightening his glasses.

"It's not your birthday? Then what the fuck is going on?" Roger squinted suspiciously at the paper streamers. It sure as hell looked like a party, with all these people dancing and laughing and loitering by the punch bowl. _Like that pretty redheaded filly over there,_ Roger noticed suddenly. He made a mental note to go and chat her up later. _What's her name again? Angie . . . no! April! Right . . . April. _

"I only told you a million times, Roger! It's called a _Bar Mitzvah_. A Jewish rite of passage, remember?" Mark sighed, frustrated. Roger was a great friend and all, but it wouldn't kill him to pay attention for once.

"Um . . . sure! Of – Of course I remember . . ." Roger said unconvincingly. He winced at the look on Mark's face, but brightened almost at once.

"Open my present!"

"Roger . . . I'm not supposed- "

"Who the hell _cares_ what you're supposed to do? Open it now! Its fucking rad, its awesome, its mind-blowingly _cool_!" Roger hastily composed his face into his most convincing puppy-dog eyes. "Pweese?" he pouted.

Mark sighed. He was a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine . . ." Ignoring Roger's triumphant smirk, Mark picked up Rogers gift. It was wrapped in newspaper, of all things. A card was attached to the outside. He lifted it and read allowed:

_So, I have a best friend, and his name is Mark,_

_And he's, like, really really smart!_

_He likes to film a whole lot of stuff,_

_And never seems to get quite enough._

_Every day, he films Scarsdale, New York._

_Lots of people call him a mega dork._

_So that's why Marky's lucky to be_

_Friends with such a cool dude like me!_

Mark blinked. He looked up to see an ecstatic Roger grinning manically at him.

"So didja like it? I wrote it all by myself!" It was obvious that Roger couldn't have been more proud.

"Um .. yeah! It was .. really .. deep! I loved it. Thanks!" Luckily, Mark's fake enthusiasm flew by undetected. Beaming, Roger thrust the package at him again.

"Open it!" he whined.

"I'm opening it, I'm opening it! Don't shit yourself! Oy vey . . ." Mark grumbled as he pulled the paper off . . . and gasped. His fucking rad, awesome, mind-blowingly cool present was:

A scarf.

"A _scarf_?" Mark gaped in disbelief, "Why the fuck did you get me a _scarf_?"

Undeterred, Roger grabbed the blue and white accessory and wrapped it around Mark.

"'Cause it makes you look _cool_," he explained, ignoring Mark's spluttered protests, "Instead of looking like a geek with a camera, you'll look like a cool city dude with a camera. You know, someone who could conceivably be seen with a hard-core rocker like me!"

"Um .. A: Thanks for that compliment there, and B: why the hell would a scarf make me look like a cool city dude?"

Roger rolled his eyes impatiently. "Look, it just does! C'mere .." He grabbed Mark, dragged him over to one of the glassy walls, and pointed wordlessly at his reflection.

Mark peered at himself through the darkness. With his scarf wrapped around him, he really did look sophisticated and .. well .. _cool_. Roger handed him his camera, and he took it. _Wow, _Mark thought, stunned. _Who knew such a random winter accessory could make someone as hopeless as me look this good?_

Apparently, Roger did. He smirked at Mark knowingly and choked out a cough that sounded an awful lot like "Toldjaso."

Mark shot him a glance. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, do you need a glass of water?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Marky dear. I think I have a bit of a cough coming on," Roger grinned devilishly at his friend. **(A/N: crazy fangirls squee and swoon.)**

Mark rolled his eyes. "C'mon you loser," he said as he grabbed his friend's arm and dragged him to the dance floor, "Let's see if we can land a few live ones. I've had my eye on the rabbi's daughter all night."

"After all, with your new _suave_ scarf, who could resist you?"

"Fuck you."

"I'd rather not."

"Me neither."

Both boys paused for a second and grinned at each other. Seized by a sudden rush of affection, Mark pulled him into a tight hug. Roger's grin stretched even wider as he pretended to struggle against the hug.

"Whoa, Marky. We both know I don't do hugs. It gives the ladies the wrong idea."

Mark rolled his eyes again. "Idiot," he said playfully, but quickly sobered up. "Thanks, buddy."

Roger laughed. "Anytime, my friend. Now what do you say to some smooth-talking? Bet you I can worm my way into April Ericcson's pants by the end of the evening."

Mark grinned.

"Your on."

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**(A/N: And there we have it. Please review, feedback makes me squee happily!)**


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